Alte Liebe
by loveliness decays
Summary: Love is eternal. We can move on, but old flames will always burn. GerIta, FraIta, post WWII, AU.
1. I: Overture

**ALTE LIEBE**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia. Not even in my dreams do I own Hetalia.

O reader, beware; although this is Gerita, there are other ships sitting about in this port too.

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><p><strong>Overture<strong>

Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail._  
>- Proverb<em>

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><p>Winter lays herself white and cold against the earth, nestled amongst the trees, dusted upon the withered remnants of autumn that snap with careless step, beautiful and sorrowful. The people below travel her land so, with such disregard and irreverence for her power. Once she could expunge empires and bring the ruin of tyrants, but now she is reduced to being amongst the too unambitious autumn, too cheery summer and too gentle spring.<p>

Long ago, if of them she would be queen, but now there is no distinction.

She sleeps her impassioned slumber, for whilst she rests her fury is greater, and vents her frustrations and makes them wraths upon her land in sleep: blizzards to the east and winds to the north, ice to the west and only cold calm to the south.

His presence wakes her like the touch of the silken petals of a flower upon skin; she stirs groggily, as slow as the sun might rise from beyond the hilltops. His step grazes autumn's leaves, but the leaves do not crunch and Winter is only brushed; Winter watches him, delightful of eye. By Beauty's vanity, such a deliciously gentle creature!

He could be a nymph of Winter herself, with his tawny tresses and eyes painted like the dark wood of trees and skin like crystals of snow. He moves like smoke through Winter's land, effortlessly graceful with his frail, lithe body carved of porcelain and ivory.

Winter is pleased, pictures him as one of her own wonderful beasts, imagines him to be a majesty born of her own womb, and somewhere in a land far yonder, the frigid winds of a blizzard gentle until they are no more.

It is a while before she realises her beauty has stopped and frantic, she searches for him, only to find him in the arms of another, and she senses that this other possesses his love.

Winter is envious of this man for possessing the heart of this angel, this wonder, but she too should be equally envious of her seraph, for this man is too very beautiful. He is taller than her fair boy, slender and silken of lock - but he is too much of Summer for her taste, with aureate hair and eyes like aestival skies.

And, mind full of Summer, she flinches away from the thought of the beautiful man with disgust.

_O, my fair beauty! Thou hast chosen one of Summer to make thine, but thou are mine! Summer, no doubt, delights in seeing one of my wonders choose hers. You are of white breast; forget it not, my son! _

Her nymph rests his head against the man's chest. "I missed you, mi amore," he whispers in his wine sweet voice, clutching the other man's stronger hand.

With softened soul the man lifts the nymph's hand to his mouth and kisses it, and Winter delights in watching and lessens her hold over sky to wash over the pair light.

"Mon coeur, you have not a clue how much I have missed you."

The lovebirds do not falter and Winter, unashamed, does not look away – and thus even Winter is unaware that another watches.

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><p>Teaser of an overture. Review and tell me if you actually want me to continue this ~<p> 


	2. II

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

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><p><strong>II.<strong>

"Feelings are not supposed to be logical. Dangerous is the man who has rationalized his emotions."  
><em>- David Borenstein<em>

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><p>Emotions escape Ludwig, who is a sensible soul. He does not believe in souls – he has left such beliefs to the insane, the dreamers. He does not believe in emotion.<p>

He keeps telling himself this as he walks the trodden path of dirtied snow – but nothing but Francis comes to mind. Francis, his head of silky blonde hair bent intently over Feliciano's hand. He thinks nothing of more practical matters, like the decline of Greece, the debt of Spain, no; he thinks of Feliciano's pleased expression, the smile that tugged at his lips (though obscured by his scarf, he could see the ends of his lips turned up.)

His heart clenches. It should not. There is no scientific reason why it should be clen -

"Ludwig!"

"Hallo, Elizaveta," he greets his cousin's wife in the most cordial tone he can manage.

"I've been trying to catch your attention for five minutes," she says, in a tone more worried than matter-of-fact.

"My apologies. I simply – "

Elizaveta waves her hand about. "There is no need to make excuses. Join Roderich and I for a cup of coffee." It's not a question. "He's parking the car. He'll meet us at the café."

He nods. "It would be my pleasure," he might have said had he been in a better mood - but he is not in a better mood, and so mutely they fall into step with each other, the only sound between them the sound of crunching snow.

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><p>The café is warm and cozy; its windows are frosted over with winter's breath, but it glows, lit from within.<p>

Roderich is waiting for them when they push through the door, which gives a soft, pleasant jingle – Elizaveta races forward, enveloping the stiff backed Roderich in a hug – and he sighs and presses a kiss to her forehead.

Ludwig feels the bitter taste rise in his mouth again, and he almost looks away, thinking of…

"Ludwig," Roderich says, with an imperceptible frown not on his blank face but in his voice.

"Roderich," Ludwig responds.

The silence between them is awkward, and Elizaveta steps away, murmuring softly, "Oh, oh," and smiles in apology at Ludwig.

"Would you like anything, Ludwig?" Elizaveta asks to break the silence.

"I recommend their quark **(1)**," Roderich says, and Ludwig nods.

"I'll try that, then."

Roderich gets in line and Elizaveta finds a quaint circular table by the foggy window, beckoning for Ludwig to come.

He seats himself across from Elizaveta, not wanting the honour of sitting next to the perceptive woman, and pretends she's not trying to pick his brains.

"What's the matter, Ludwig?" she asks, not in her usual sing song voice, and he's not looking at her face but she's using a tone that illustrates the frown lines between her brows.

_Francis, _he wants to scream. _Francis and... _He cannot bring himself to say his name this time; he can only think of his silky brown hair, curled as if though he were a seraph, his smiling eyes, with his eyelashes curled up on his cheek...

Elizaveta is looking at him with deeper frown lines than he imagined before and he says, "I am well."

"Nonsense. You have not been yourself lately," and her tone is inviting but he shakes his head and stares down at the tabletop - and flinches.

He promptly excuses himself to find a napkin and wipe the table top clean of crumbs, missing Elizaveta's fond smile.

When he returns, Roderich is already back with two cups of quark and a green cup of coffee for Elizaveta. And unfortunately, his cousin has usurped his seat, leaving Ludwig to sit next to his wife. Lovely.

He doesn't know why this is such an issue, really. But Ludwig can't find it in himself to be weary when he is thinking of the seraphic boy anyway so, resigned, he neatly wipes the crumbs off the table in a single, practised sweep, disposes of the napkin and takes his new seat.

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><p>Elizaveta can feel the tension rolling off of Ludwig. It feels like a mix between sorrow and anger, with frustration mixed in somewhere – she realises the frustration when Ludwig runs his hands through his hair for the nth time and eats his quark slowly.<p>

Ludwig has no patience for tardiness, and believes in efficiency and timeliness – but he seems to not notice that his companions have finished their meal. Roderich sneaks away for more quark and some bread so that Ludwig might not feel bad when he comes back to reality.

If he comes back to reality. His eyebrow is twitching and his fingers are almost drumming on the tabletop; his eyes are staring at the foggy window, but it is impossible to see out of it, so he is somewhere else completely.

Elizaveta wonders what can be grating on his nerves. His country is stable – everyone else is relying on him, yes, but he has shouldered such responsibilities in the past without growing this withdrawn and anxious.

She frowns, trying to speed up the line with her eyes – there are maybe six people in front of Roderich, and six people behind him too. The last thing they need is for Ludwig to return, finish eating and leave. He has been reclusive as of late; even Gilbert is worrying for his brother now, and Ludwig has started to not take phone calls.

He is in an almost catatonic state, and after the war, he swore that it would never happen again.

She closes her eyes, listens to the rhythm of Ludwig's fingernails against the table beating out against the din of the cozy café, and begins drumming her fingers herself on her thigh. Her brain grows fuzzy and she falls into sleep, try as she might to stop it.

"Elizaveta," a voice says, but she still cannot break free.

"Elizaveta, it's me," a different voice says, and she can't quite put her finger on it, even though she has heard it a million times before. _Who's me? _Elizaveta wants to ask, but her mouth won't work and her eyes won't open.

"Wake up, sorella **(2)**," the second voice pleads. _Feliciano._

Her eyes snap open to see that her Feliciano is staring down at her, amber eyes wide with concern. He's more beautiful than she remembered, if possible – the tip of his nose is still rosy with cold, and his lips are set in an unsure smile.

_Oh my god. Did I fall asleep? I fell asleep, _she groans to herself in embarrassment.

She hugs him tightly. "Feli," she breathes. "When did you get here?"

Feliciano returns her hug and she can _feel _his smile. Five minutes ago, with Francis," he says, and they release each other. He looks at the line, looking for Francis, and adds, "You must be very tired, sorella." He turns his head back to her and peers down at her with his wide, wide eyes and she hugs him again.

"It's so good to see you, Feli…" She sighs. She feels as if though she's missing something.

He takes the seat next to her and –

_Shit!_ "Wait!" she gasps (it's improper to curse in front of sweet Feli.) Feliciano looks at her questioningly.

"Where's Ludwig?"

Feliciano's face falls. "He must have left before Francis and I got here. Sorella, I think he's avoiding me."

"He's avoiding us all, I think." Roderich frowns, and her head whips to see him across the table – and another cup of coffee.

"He must be," Feliciano says weakly.

She takes a long swig of coffee, failing to see the expression on Feliciano's face but feeling the fresh suspicion tug at her all the same.

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><p><strong>(1<strong>**) **quark - Kind of like yogurt. Closest to Greek yogurt, I believe.  
>sorella - Italian for sister<p>

I updated! Surprised? Me too. It's 4.42 in the morning and I just felt like writing this after posting Falter. (I have a strange sleep schedule right now; I sleep about 4 hours for every 9 hours I'm awake, and can barely stay awake pushing that, but can't really sleep before that. This means that I stay awake all night.) But I hope to write more; I have another chapter drafted from a while ago, but as you can see, they aren't very long, so I'm not sure how much that means to you. xD

... I'll probably revise this later.

Reviews are appreciated!

Until next time~  
><em>loveliness decays<em>


	3. III

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own Hetalia. Sad day.

**III. **

A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.  
><em>- Edward de Bono<em>

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><p>"And then he, said no more – "<p>

"Oh, my heart, I'll buy you everything in the world if it makes you happy," he cuts through his lover's anguish wail silkily, wearing an indulgent smile that he knows renders his lover spluttering and blushing.

He can see him melt; the hand that is not holding his was brushing back his hair, but now it rests on his mouth and his breath stops.

He becomes aware that the sidewalk beneath them is blue and white with frost and it has them almost slipping and they really could just take a car, but his cheerful little love really does enjoy gliding on the ice.

Only God knows how long they stand there, staring at each other, cheeks red from cold (and something else); but then a smoky puff of breath comes forth from his dear's mouth like fairy dust, and they start walking again, and the easy silence is the only indication that the pause ever existed.

"And risk your life? No, my dear," he chastises softly with a cheeky grin curling his lips. "I do not think I could have as … talented a lover as you."

The blue eyes darken imperceptibly to a shade of cobalt too much like different eyes – but the memories are broken when the man retorts, "I shall do all in my power, then, to not deprive you of a bed warmer. But you do know I'd do anything for you."

Feliciano throws his head back and laughs his high laugh like bells in the spring, eyes closed. "Oh, the mafia could do… other things to you that would leave me lonely, ve."

The threat has his lover paling on cue. "… almost anything, then. But I _would_ do _anything…_ to you, if it is any consolation."

A blush smudges across Feliciano's winter pale (but still tan) cheeks, like a fire in his skin. Francis sighs imperceptibly and leans in to kiss him.

"… do you want to give me my paintings back?" Feliciano asks prettily.

Francis pauses. "No." And impishly: "If you marry me, they'll be yours anyway." And he tries to kiss him again.

"Stop trying to avoid the topic, ve…!" Feliciano squeaks again, ducking his head, and makes to run ahead.

Francis cages his wild nymph in his arms.

"Stop trying to avoid my kisses," he retorts.

"B-but... _here?_"

"Yes, here," he insists, and the little animal finally stills and lets Francis kiss him.

Francis is a masterful lover, he knows that, because he has simply had so many. He doesn't apologise for his past; he can't be sorry when he can do _this_.

Feliciano forgets his protests, mewling and purring and Francis has already slid his winter coat off of his heated skin, hands trailing up Feliciano's cold chest, nibbling his neck and –

The sun is shining bright, but a long shadow falls on them and _someone is watching, _Francis realises, pausing his ministrations.

Then Feli whisper-whines, his eyes closed and back turned to the mysterious someone, but Francis' own eyes are wide open, staring at the unwelcome voyeur.

"Why'd you stop?" Feli asks, pouting.

He starts again, still looking at the stranger. The way that the sun falls on his face and hair makes it impossible to determine colour or exact features – all he can see is a pair of eyes that are spitting fire. They are confused. Fascinated. Affronted.

Aroused.

Francis wipes the smirk threatening to bloom on his lips, presses his mouth back to Feliciano's neck.

He is a lover _and_ a showman, after all.

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><p>His eyes are impossibly wide in his face and his jaw aches, but <em>this… <em>this…

"Mein Gott," he whispers, and prays that Francis does not see him.

_Velvety lips burning against his. This mouth is filled with eternal laughter, and now his – _

The memories won't go away. Why won't the memories go away? It's something that never should have been. But standing here, he remembers it is – was.

He hates them for that.

_As if you don't remember it everyday. How could you forget his hands whispering against your skin, smoothing over your shoulders, his mouth laughing, his hair so lovely it must have drawn the moon from the sky to sit in the window – _

_No, no, _he screams, and tries to crawl away from the monster in his mind – but _his hands fist in his hair, mouth murmuring sweet nothings, and crescents of moonlight fall on his cheek and he looks like an angel (but they are as old as time and nothing that old can be innocent.)_

_ "You're running away from me," he says, sadly, even though he is _never _sad – not when he's here, not when someone is watching him, but he knows that when his lover is alone he spends hours screaming in the dark. _

_ "I'd never run away from you." He tries for offense – but he's lying, and both of them know that._

_ The angel sighs, cups his face in his hands (he flinches; when did they become so callused?) and whispers, "It's okay. Both of us knew this wouldn't last." _

_ His brain is fuzzy and something rushes along the sides of his head and he finds that he is crying. _

_"Don't say that!" _

_The brows furrow. "Why? We know it's true." _

_"I... I..." _

_"Don't lie," he says firmly, and thumbs brush over his cheeks. "Give me this one night and we'll both be on our way. I won't make things tougher than they have to be."_

_"But why does it have to be like this?" _

_"Because," he says, looking at him strangely. "You've chosen your way and I've chosen mine."_

_"Do you think I_ wanted _this? I wanted _- _"_

_"We'll forget about it tonight. Just tonight. And tomorrow, everything will be back to the way it needs to be."_

_"But it shouldn't be this way," he cries, feels tears in his eyes (when was the last time he cried?) "It shouldn't be this w - " _

_"Shut up," the other snaps, sighing, and he flinches - his angelic lover_ never _snaps_._ "Just shut up. Because nothing is the way it_ should _be."__ And before he can go off, he silences him with his mouth and he's right; he doesn't remember anything but the sad promise that_ it's just tonight.

When he comes back, he's swaying, staring, on the verge of crying. _God damn him for reducing me to this. _It's a bitter, angry thought - but a concession too, an acknowledgement that yes, everything is the way it needs to be now. Just as he said. Tears are coming down his cheeks but he wipes them away and flees, feeling Francis' Mona Lisa stare bore into his back.

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><p>Who in the world could it be~? cough

This is what was happening for Francis and Feli while Elizaveta and Ludwig were at the café, ja.

If you can tell me what you thought, that'd be appreciated, but thank you very much for reading! As you can see, my chapters aren't very long (I'm planning to lengthen them, but I have no idea how that'll go), but I think that's for the best. I'll update soon~

_loveliness decays_


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